"I will bring that group through the fire and make them pure. I will refine them like silver and purify them like gold. They will call on my name, and I will answer them. I will say, ‘These are my people,’ and they will say, ‘The LORD is our God.’” (Zechariah 13:9 NLT)
"If you can't stand the heat, get out of the kitchen."
I think this classic adage applies in a very small way to the life of faith. It is NOT (!) that God wants us to get out of it (faith, that is, not the kitchen), but that when we're journeying toward heaven, there are going to be some hot spots on the road.
I know this, and yet I always seem to be surprised at how hot my kitchen is getting.
"When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you. When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned; the flames will not set you ablaze" (Isaiah 43:2).
"When you walk through the fire..." God assures us.
When. Not if.
So, when—when!—God allows fires to burn in our lives, we can endure them with the confidence that He's up to something for the good of our faith.
Sometimes, God delivers us from our fires. He lifts us up and plucks us out of them. Done. At which point our faith is strengthened, especially when we do not forget that deliverance...when we never quite go back to normal life because we keep on being a little stunned and a lot grateful.
Sometimes, God delivers us through our fires. He gives us the provision and protection we need to come out on the other side. At which point our faith is refined...a tested, strengthened version of what it was before.
Sometimes, God delivers us by our fires into His presence. We stand before His throne and see Him face to face. At which point our faith is perfected. It is complete. It lacks nothing. We lack nothing.
I'm not who I was, on the other side of some fires I've been through. And I wouldn't want to be. The dross that the flame of God burned away—that inferior material that contaminated my faith—needed to go. I needed to look less like myself so I could be a better reflection of my Refiner.
Refine us, O God. Burn away all the pieces of us that don't look like you. Take us from, through, or by the fire to the place where we hear you, the Refiner, say, "These are my people" and where we, the refined, say, "This is our God."
So, when—when!—God allows fires to burn in our lives, we can endure them with the confidence that He's up to something for the good of our faith.
Sometimes, God delivers us from our fires. He lifts us up and plucks us out of them. Done. At which point our faith is strengthened, especially when we do not forget that deliverance...when we never quite go back to normal life because we keep on being a little stunned and a lot grateful.
Sometimes, God delivers us through our fires. He gives us the provision and protection we need to come out on the other side. At which point our faith is refined...a tested, strengthened version of what it was before.
Sometimes, God delivers us by our fires into His presence. We stand before His throne and see Him face to face. At which point our faith is perfected. It is complete. It lacks nothing. We lack nothing.
I'm not who I was, on the other side of some fires I've been through. And I wouldn't want to be. The dross that the flame of God burned away—that inferior material that contaminated my faith—needed to go. I needed to look less like myself so I could be a better reflection of my Refiner.
Refine us, O God. Burn away all the pieces of us that don't look like you. Take us from, through, or by the fire to the place where we hear you, the Refiner, say, "These are my people" and where we, the refined, say, "This is our God."
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I'd love to hear from you! Feel free to tell me what you really think. Years ago, I explained to my then-two-year-old that my appointment with a counselor was "sort of like going to a doctor who will help me be a better mommy." Without blinking, she replied, "You'd better go every day." All of which is just to say I've spent some time in the school of brutal honesty!